


A Study in Silicone

by avawtsn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Demisexual Sherlock, Dildos, Established Relationship, F/F, Female John Watson, Female Sherlock Holmes, Female Sherlock Holmes/Female John Watson, Femlock, Fingerfucking, Genderbending, Lesbian Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avawtsn/pseuds/avawtsn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Female!Sherlock and Jane Watson try out a strap-on dildo for the first time. It's pretty much 3 and a half thousand words of that. Yep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Silicone

**Author's Note:**

> Woefully unbetaed and not britpicked in the least. Self-edited while in the throes of caffeine withdrawal. All mistakes, discontinuities, and awfulness are my own. Apologies to the fandom for the title.  
> I have been working off and on on a boarding school AU featuring genderswapped versions of nearly everyone, including Sherlock and John (Jane), which is not currently published anywhere and 75% still in my head. And, well, the no shame ficathon came up, and I decided to do a PWP of that universe, a few years down the line. (Read: it's well beyond boarding school now, so there's no underagedness here.)  
> If you have any interest in the boarding school AU or more from this universe generally, it would be lovely for me to know that. Other than that...enjoy!  
> -  
> July 2014: one note I'd like to make about the "gold star lesbian" comment that's in this fic. This was one of earliest forays into writing fic at all, the very first F/F coupling I'd written, and despite my age (I was and am 31), I wasn't aware of the misogynistic undertones and history of that term, did not think to possibly tag for it or anything, and I'm still not sure how to tag it, in truth. So in this fic, it's mentioned briefly and thrown around lightly. Sherlock pouts at it, declaims it (because she doesn't even really identify as lesbian anyway, she's probably demisexual and _in_ a lesbian relationship), and Jane's apologetic for using it, but not for the right reasons. As it is, I might claim that Jane, as someone who doesn't identify as gay herself and has grown up in a misogynistic culture like the rest of us, might not understand the connotation and history of the term herself either, but what _I'm_ saying right now as the author is -- I didn't when I wrote it. So I apologize, and I'm leaving it here with a note, but I did want to just apologize and clear that up. It's not a good term to use; there should be no shaming of people who have experimented or otherwise simply had sex with other genders before settling in on their own orientation and identity, and I'll not be using the term again.

“Is this going to get your gold star lesbian card revoked?” Jane teases, pulling Sherlock closer.

“I’m not much of a lesbian, gold star or no,” she sniffs.

“I know, love, I’m sorry,” Jane murmurs into her mouth before dipping in for a teasing kiss. “It was a poor joke. You’re only for me.” Jane nips at Sherlock’s bottom lip and pulls it into her mouth. “Not anyone else,” she manages to say, Sherlock’s lip trapped gently between her teeth. This earns a flutter of a moan, as it often does when Jane talks with a mouthful of Sherlock.

They’ve had many talks by now about how Sherlock’s sexual attraction has never expanded further than the universe comprising Jane Watson. Demisexual, Janesexual, however they’d put it over the years, Sherlock was interested in only one person, and that was Jane. Ultimately, she was happy to work with whatever anatomy Jane happened to have, but it seemed very much sexual serendipity that they shared the same physiology. Jane was Jane, and Sherlock was hers.

Though, as it turned out, having the same anatomical bits was quite the boon in the early part of their sexual relationship: Sherlock started off with a working knowledge of what tended to work and what didn’t. Until now, she hadn’t particularly cared about configurations beyond what they already had. But now, that universe was tilting, if only just.

“Now are you going to use this thing on me or not?” Sherlock whinges, impatient as ever. Her hand slips down to the black harness slung low on Jane’s hips and pulls her closer, finger hooked under the nylon-spandex belt. Jane covers her mouth and dissolves into giggles as the caramel-coloured dildo bumps into Sherlock’s hip, earning a petulant scowl.

“Oh my god, this thing is ridiculous. Did you have to get one so realistic looking? It’s got...veins,” Jane says, her laughter tugging up the corners of Sherlock’s mouth despite her best efforts.

“It wasn’t my first choice either, but the entire rig came as a combo from the shop. It’s the harness I was interested in, for comfort and fit, not the fake cock that I’ll hardly be looking at anyway,” Sherlock replies, pushing Jane back onto the bed and climbing over her legs. “And anyway, would you have preferred the bright purple ones they had? Or the ones shaped like aquatic mammals? They had _otters_ , Jane. Otters.”

Jane is sunny and lovely as she lays back on the bed, propped up on her elbows and shaking with giggles. “No, no,” she says, pulling Sherlock down to her. “It’s all...fine. I just wanted to do this with you. You’re what’s important. Us.” Jane’s face is open and equal parts heat and softness.

Sherlock feels her face grow warm and doesn’t know what to say. She never does. She was just talking about otter-shaped _dildos_.

Instead, she takes Jane's breast in hand, cupping it reverently, and rolls a nipple gently between her fingers. Jane lets out a soft sigh and lets her head drop back a bit, before relaxing down onto the bed completely. Sherlock smiles to herself when she sees Jane's eyelids fall closed.

Sherlock lowers her head over the other nipple, dark curls falling forward in a tumble. She ghosts her tongue along the areola, sending a shiver through Jane, and then coaxes the pink nipple into her mouth for a proper suck. The miracle of erectile tissue: once suckled into her mouth, it stays stiff between her lips. Sherlock kneads it between her lips, moaning softly around it as Jane squirms.

She brings up her other hand to cup both Jane’s breasts properly, kneading slowly, deliberately. Her head bobs ever so slightly as she licks and rhythmically renews the suck-hold of Jane's nipple in her mouth. With her other hand, Sherlock pinches just a little bit harder the nipple she's rolling between forefinger and thumb.

Jane arches her back, breath growing more ragged, the quietest moans escaping her on the exhales. It’s Sherlock’s favourite sound -- or the beginnings of it, anyway.

“The harness precludes the possibility at the moment,” Sherlock murmurs against Jane’s breast, “but I must say, you look good enough to eat.” Sherlock drops her hand to run her finger along the top edge of the harness, but Jane swats it away.

“That is for terrible puns,” Jane says, but her shortness of breath and dilated pupils give her away. Sherlock smiles; if it’s as wicked as it feels, so be it.

“I thought you liked puns and other low forms of humour.”

“Do shut up. I’ll show you low.” And with that, Jane sits up enough to scoop an arm around Sherlock’s waist and flips them so that Sherlock’s on the bottom. It’s Jane’s turn to wear a wicked grin. "Teach you to tease."

She hovers between Sherlock’s legs, her movements made slightly awkward by the dildo hanging heavy and awkward at her crotch. Jane drops her hands to Sherlock's thighs, spreads them wide and then pauses to survey, eyes dark. "God, you're gorgeous." She licks her lips and lifts her eyes to meet Sherlock's. "And all mine." She lowers her head to a few inches above Sherlock's pubic mound.

Sherlock writhes before Jane’s mouth even fully descends, eyes glued to Jane’s lascivious smile. Her lips are wet from that delicious compulsion of hers to lick them, and they glisten now cinematically. Her lovely Jane looks hungry.

From that distance and her legs spread the way they are, Sherlock knows the smell of her desire is undeniable. Jane’s breathing in it in, about to _taste_ it. _Pupils dilated_ , Sherlock mentally checks off, _breathing shallow_. The curve of her mouth is full of intent. Jane lowers her head the rest of the way.

Sherlock feels, rather than sees, Jane’s tongue slip up her slit, parting her labia slowly, almost experimentally. She squirms despite herself and starts to feel wetness drip from the parted folds, until Jane tongues her again, repeating nearly the same path but just slightly deeper.

Jane dips her tongue just inside her and then around the inner labia where she’s now exposed and open. Jane drags her tongue along the same long, slow path up, only this time a finger traces her entrance in the tongue’s wake, butterfly light, and Sherlock  _writhes_  under her, back arching.

Jane repeats the slow, teasing lick, never directly engaging with her clit, until Sherlock's breathing is heavy despite herself and her chest is heaving. And then Jane pulls off as if to survey her work. Leaning back down, she drops closed-mouth kisses, comparatively chaste, blowing cool spots over Sherlock’s skin as she breathes. Sherlock shivers, aching for more contact.

Jane drops light little pecks up one side, lips meeting Sherlock’s trimmed black pubic hair, up past her clitoris, not touching it directly, to her fleshy pubis, and then down the other side. Jane nuzzles her face there in that join, breaths no longer sending cool shocks up Sherlock’s spine but Sherlock gasps nonetheless.

Her finger continues its lazy circles around Sherlock’s sensitive inner labia, dipping inside her occasionally. Sherlock is so wet, it makes a soft squishing sound with every dip of Jane’s finger. It makes the tips of Sherlock's ears burn, that sound. She thinks she must be dripping onto the sheets. She opens her eyes to look down at Jane, realising she must have closed them at some point.

“Are you going to fuck me with that thing or what?” Sherlock demands, but she’s breathy, voice ragged. Not her most commanding.

Jane meets her eyes and grins. “Impatient. I’m working up to it, you know. You’re not used to anything so big inside you.”

Sherlock makes an impatient smack of her lips. “The human vagina expands up to 200% during sexual arousal and has evolved to accommodate a good deal more than the seven inch fake cock currently strapped to you. Now _if you please_ , I’m more than sufficiently sexually aroused right now, so get on with it please and _fuck me_.”

“You have no shame, Sherlock Holmes. You are the most impatient,” Jane practically growls, dipping low to run her tongue along the same path as the first, slit to clit, but in a heavy, purposeful, punishing stroke. Sherlock’s eyes fall shut and she tries to neither squirm nor buck her hips, but she utterly fails at both when Jane finishes the lick by flicking her tongue directly over Sherlock's neglected clit.

“Impossible,” Jane continues. Tongue to Sherlock's clit again, but flattened and rough now: a full assault, just as Sherlock likes it. Sherlock’s hand flies to Jane’s hair. Sherlock thinks she can feel Jane _smiling_ , but the repeated lathe of that tongue keeps her from voicing these thoughts aloud.

“Ridiculous.” A single finger -- index, Sherlock guesses -- slips easily inside her, but it’s not easy to deduce when that infernal finger isn’t in to the hilt. Her eyes aren’t open to confirm and her nerves are tingling from a combination of sensory overload and overwhelming wetness down there. She knows she’s wet, more than wet, _slick_.

Jane pumps the finger in and out with ruthless regularity. She drags the flat of her tongue over Sherlock’s clit. Her broad passes are slicking up more than Sherlock’s clit now; they’re licking from inserted finger and up to and above the clitoral hood. This time, Jane closes her mouth around Sherlock’s clit, catching it and the surrounding flesh between her lips before coming off it with a pop.

“Impatient.” A moan that had started its escape from Sherlock’s throat jumps an entire decibel and full octave when a second finger joins the first, and yes that _definitely_  got fuller and tighter all of a sudden. It was the index finger, definitely the index finger, now with the middle, pumping in and out.

Sherlock tries to speak to cover it up. “Y-you said impatient,” she gasps out. “A-already.”

“No shame at all,” Jane says, voice full of danger. Her fingers piston in and out and then curl ever so slightly _upward_. Sherlock whimpers, entire body curling forward, hand on the back of Jane’s head and spine trying to curve around Jane’s impossible fingers.

And then suddenly, Jane’s fingers are gone. Her tongue has ceased its lathe, and Sherlock's clit feels like it’s both burning and cooling without Jane’s attentions.

Sherlock opens her eyes and sees Jane wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, revealing a devious, dangerous smile. Her hair is an utter mess from Sherlock’s fingers and she glistens in patches from her nose and chin to her fingers. This is a favourite look of hers, one reserved specially for her eyes only: debauched, pupils blown, and covered in evidence of Sherlock all over her.

Jane climbs up Sherlock's body, resting her weight on her right side, propped up on her elbow. She keeps her head low, kissing the top of Sherlock’s breast and fondling it upward to suck the nipple into her mouth. The dildo sits heavy and hard and threatening against Sherlock's thigh and Sherlock gives a little groan in anticipation.

Jane’s left hand moves down to steady the dildo between her legs and line it up along Sherlock’s slit. Sherlock fidgets as she feels the silicone head beg entrance. It _is_ a rather anatomically correct dildo, with a large head, broader and wider and far larger than Jane’s fingers. The tip just barely slips inside as Sherlock squirms, and _oh_  that’s different from Jane’s fingers or mouth or tongue.

“You ready then?” Jane asks, voice low and ragged. Propping herself on both elbows now, she adjusts so she’s leaning her weight more evenly over Sherlock.

“Yes, of cou--” Sherlock starts, but Jane’s pushed forward mid-word. Sherlock gasps, the _girth_ , she wasn’t prepared for the _girth_ , and blindly grabs for the back of Jane’s head to bring their mouths together.

Jane hadn’t initially pushed all the way home, leaving Sherlock time to get used to the length, but the bruising kiss pushes Jane upward on Sherlock’s body and she winds up pushing all the way in, the harness coming right up to Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock gasps for breath and bucks her hips, bearing down. Sherlock’s hands fly to Jane’s hips, gripped desperately on the top belt of the harness.

“Oh, oh, oh my g--” she says, the words compulsively leaving her, but then Jane interrupts again with a demanding kiss, and she’s thrusting, thrusting and obliterating Sherlock's mind with white. Distantly, she thinks her returned kisses are sloppy and overwhelmed and rough, but she can't be arsed to care while Jane is fucking her with abandon. Part of her wants to _see_ , desperately so, to know what Jane looks like this, but Sherlock can't seem to send the signals to open her eyes and find out.

Jane slows her thrusts and pulls back to prop herself up in a wide push-up stance. Sherlock manages to look up at her, somewhere between desperate and petulant. But Jane is flushed, all dark eyes, and she's breathing like she's run a circuit. And with Jane's arms planted on either side of her, Sherlock feels surrounded, protected, _taken_. She can't find it in herself to be imperious.

Jane bows her head to kiss her, tongue searching out hers, and pumps her hips achingly slowly as she does. Sherlock can feel every inch of thickness this way and she melts into the kiss, breath picking back up.

She’s experimenting, Sherlock realises. Pistoning in fast, pulling out slow, sometimes deep and sometimes shallow. Sherlock feels her groin and head simultaneously on fire when Jane pulls back and whispers into her slack mouth.

“Is--how is it? Is it good? What do you want?” Jane asks, eyes half lidded. “How do you want it?”

“It’s--” Sherlock starts. Jane moves more regularly, thrusts evenly in as she waits for the words to come. “It’s--you’re good. It’s good. I don’t know. It’s--good.”

Jane adjusts her hip angle, trying a thrust from lower on Sherlock’s body, and Sherlock can’t help but cry out a bit, that was so close to _perfect_.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jane says, nipping at Sherlock’s bottom lip and tugging it between her own. “Gorgeous.” Sherlock whimpers and sucks on Jane's top lip in return. Taking that as invitation to open her mouth more, Jane darts her tongue between Sherlock’s lips and laps at her, greedy and bold. And Sherlock knows exactly where that tongue has been tonight, and she whimpers again just to taste it, every synapse firing.

“Here,” Jane says, voice rough. She pulls out and off of Sherlock, who just growls in frustration and looks up with equal parts annoyance and stupor.

“What are you doing?”

“Turn over. On your knees. All fours,” Jane says, eyes drinking in the sight of Sherlock laid back on the bed. She must look half wrecked, Sherlock knows, considering she _feels_  mostly wrecked, but Jane looks at her like she’s the encapsulation of all the answers in the world.

And so, obedient for once in her life, Sherlock turns over, if clumsily, and gets on all fours, bum teetering a bit conspicuously in the air. Jane runs a hand over her arse cheeks appreciatively and then pauses to line herself up again, hands on Sherlock’s hips. When it becomes obvious Jane’s a bit short for this position, Sherlock spreads her legs to lose some height, bringing herself closer to the bed. And then Jane pushes back in, and Sherlock nearly buckles onto the mattress.

“Fuck, fuck, _oh_ ,” Sherlock says, unable to pay attention anymore to how wanton she sounds. “God, keep--keep doing--oh. _Oh_.”

Jane thrusts forward hard, sending Sherlock forward a bit and her legs spreading wider. Sherlock drops from her hands to her elbows, arse now in the air and rhythm completely at Jane’s mercy. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and again she does not recall when she closed them.

“Keep--keep going, _fuck_ ,” Sherlock bites out, and she reaches out for a pillow to hold beneath her. She grabs fistfuls of the pillow and and buries her face in it. Each time Jane thrusts forward, Sherlock lets out a muffled yell into it. The pounding is rough and exquisite, and Sherlock can hear beyond her own yelling that Jane is grunting from the effort.

“Fuck, you are gorgeous like this,” Sherlock can hear Jane saying, but it’s low and half drowned out by her own unintelligible yells and hard breathing.

Soon, Sherlock stops talking entirely and the yells go quiet, even if her mouth stays slack and buried in the pillow. But Jane knows what that means, and redoubles her efforts to thrust evenly and regularly. She readjusts her hands in their stabilising grip on Sherlock’s hips.

Sherlock, very carefully, reaches down with her right hand and brushes over her clit. The pounding and jerky movements mean just the pads of her index finger and middle fingers are catching on it intermittently, but the light friction is enough, and before Sherlock can call out a warning, she’s freezing up as orgasm rolls over her. She's never had an orgasm with something so large inside her, and it is strange and _full_ as she pulses, muscles contracting, around the silicone dildo.

Jane knows her as ever. She thrusts a few more times and then slows to a stop, holding steady inside her up to the hilt. Her hands draw soothing circles on Sherlock’s lower back.

Sherlock finally collapses forward, and the dildo slips loose. Sherlock sucks in a breath in response, suddenly empty, and groans softly as Jane settles in beside her.

“God,” Sherlock says as she catches her breath.

“You think so? I wasn’t sure I’d be all that divine on our first go with this thing,” Jane teases. “But then, I am talented.” Sherlock half-heartedly swats at Jane’s shoulder.

“Well, that was certainly different,” Sherlock says, draping her arm over her eyes like a swooning Victorian heroine.

“You certainly don’t normally bleed, I’ll say.”

Sherlock looks down and Jane is holding up a pink, wet finger for inspection.

“It’s not painful. Maybe a bit sore from the pounding, but not painful from a tear. And god knows my hymen was 'broken' years ago," Sherlock says. "Perhaps next time, some artificial lubricant though.”

“Or maybe I don’t shag you through the mattress right away with a seven inch cock, when you don’t normally have more than two fingers in you. I feel like I was hitting your cervix.”

“Bit like closing the stable door after the horse’s bolted,” Sherlock replies, suppressing a yawn. “You may have hit my cervix a bit. But I didn’t mind.”

“Slow is the way to go,” Jane insists.

Sherlock looks at her now to really observe. Jane pinks just a bit and averts her eyes. “But you liked it.” Sherlock flips to her back and props herself up on her elbows to get a good look at her. “You liked it quite a lot.”

Jane turns a delightful shade of plum-peach. “I was hitting your cervix,” she repeats.

Sherlock sits up fully just to rest her weight on Jane, who shifts to her back. “I liked it,” she says, licking at Jane’s slightly overworked lips. “I liked every bit of it.” This time, it’s Sherlock’s turn to tug Jane’s lip forward and Jane’s turn to whimper.

Sherlock kisses her slowly, thoroughly. She moves over Jane deliberately until she’s straddling her, hovering above the dildo, which is now sitting up stiffly from the harness. Sherlock keeps the kisses deep, eyes closed, lining herself up by feel alone. When she’s satisfied, her hands move to Jane’s breasts to fondle them, and Jane moans into her mouth.

Sherlock lowers herself, slowly this time, onto the silicone cock. There’s no extra lubricant down there and Sherlock’s not as wet as she was at the outset, so she moves slowly, sensuously. When the dildo is fully seated in her, Sherlock pulls off from kissing Jane and sits up straight. Jane's hands move up to fondle Sherlock's breasts, earning a groan from Sherlock when Jane thumbs over her nipples simultaneously.

Cautiously, Sherlock grinds forward, and the movement is not unlike the sort of grinding sex they normally have. Except everything else is quite a lot different: this time, there’s seven inches of thick silicone in Sherlock, filling her up impossibly full, and Sherlock suspects that when she gets off again, it’s not going to be a clitoral orgasm.

Jane, eyes just a bit hazy, lowers one hand, Sherlock watching all the while. Jane makes a show of licking her fingers with as much slow precision as Sherlock’s grinding. Sherlock moans just to look at Jane’s tongue dart out to wet them For a moment that sets Sherlock's brain on fire, Jane’s thumb is keeping open her mouth in a wanton display, and Sherlock grinds down onto the dildo just a bit faster. And then Jane’s hand lowers and those wet fingers graze Sherlock’s clit with just the lightest brush.

Sherlock sucks in air at the touch. Her clit feels hot, the slightest grazes like burning, but she thinks impossibly she’s getting wetter. She grinds forward experimentally, and it feels _good_.

“Oh, god,” Sherlock says, voice at a whisper. Jane looks up at her, enraptured. One hand is feather-light on Sherlock’s clit and the other roams over the milky expanse of Sherlock's skin.

“Oh _god_ ,” Sherlock repeats, and she drops forward, leaning her weight on either side of Jane. It traps Jane’s lowered arm from being able to move, but Sherlock’s able to grind forward and still get friction against it. Sherlock’s grinding movements pick up speed and she splays out her knees to adjust her weight.

Jane’s eyes are dark, heavy lidded, like she’s intoxicated. She is pleasantly flush, her hair an utter unkempt mess, her lips a bitten and swollen pink, dry from saliva, and --

"You are the best thing I have ever seen," Sherlock murmurs. Jane's mouth turns up in the smile that makes her heart ache and swell.

Sherlock leans down and kisses those lips again, and Jane drinks her in like one dying of thirst. Sherlock finds she can still thrust like this, leaning down to kiss, and she does this slow, deliberate rocking until she climaxes again, orgasm shaking her from the inside out and squeezing out her breath in chokes. With Jane’s lip trapped between hers, she shudders bodily, seizing up for a moment, or several moments, that last for how long she doesn't quite know.

When Sherlock releases the kiss, she starts to feel the ache. She looks down at Jane, shivering intermittently, but a lazy smile stretches across her face.

Jane returns the smile, still looking happily punch drunk. “Good?”

“Almost good,” Sherlock replies. Jane starts to frown, confused, and then Sherlock leans down to plant a kiss on those poor bitten lips again.

“Now, it's my turn.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading. Whoever you are. Really, honestly, thank you for even getting to these end notes. I really hope you enjoyed this, and since I'm very new at this (writing fanfic), it would mean a lot to me if you let me know somehow -- leave a kudos, comment, review, etc. And if you have any constructive feedback for me, I'll try to have a thick skin! If you want to message me more personally without leaving a comment here on AO3, you can find me on tumblr at [avawatson](http://avawatson.tumblr.com). My [askbox](http://avawatson.tumblr.com/ask) is open. Thanks again for reading.


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